Everything has a Use

One of the aspects I love about farming is that everything has a use. The city slicker's rotten fruit, stale bread, or sour milk most often wind up in the trash--which then goes to a landfill, etc. Here, fruit does not "spoil," no, it becomes suitable for the chickens or, later, for the worm bin. Here, bread does not get "stale," it, too, goes out to the animals--all of whom clamor for and love it, with the exception of the alpacas who have yet to develop a taste for the stuff. And here, milk does not "go bad."

After reading an article about using milk as fertilizer with which to build the soil, and recalling how my mother used to use rinsed milk bottle residue on her house plants, I had a "new" use for excess, leftover, or spoiled milk. No longer is it limited to dog or chicken food. (The cats sit by the milking stand and get fresh-from-the-goat milk daily, and so they are not in line for old milk.) I found some transplants that I had barely set in the soil then abandoned; plants that were struggling to survive; plants that were hanging on by a leaf, or so it seemed. I poured about a quarter-cup of milk around their bases, then left them alone. What I should have done was take a photo of them in their struggling state, but I failed to do that.

Young daylily plants with bee balm behind them

Not a week later, the plants had perked up and had taken on a stronger green color. Soon after, the little daylilies had "baby" shoots popping out around them. The bee balm that had been barely recognizable looked healthy and additional plants began to emerge. And the gangling, spare, two-leafed canna-lily shot up as well.

Canna lilies beginning to thrive, Sept. 8th

As the photos show, the plants sit in just a bit of barely-composted soil. Their soil is but the beginnings of a "lasagna" bed begun last fall and as-yet-unfinished, which suffered in the May flooding such that their very base--their cardboard and newsprint underpinnings surfaced. Even so, with a shot of milk to their roots, they've overcome their scanty foundation.

Canna lilies, Sept 27th, note condition of middle plant from before milk application

Watch for more about the benefits of raw milk in another post. For now, allow me to return to the topic at hand.

Moving from the "waste" products from the household kitchen to the waste products produced in the pastures, I must say that I still enjoy watching the chickens rooting through manure for sustenance. The chickens turn large clumps of horse manure into flecks fit to fertilize the soil. Just this week I've been watching Miss Kimberly, our Buff Orpington hen, teaching her newest brood the ins and outs of pasture nutrition.

Kimberly herding her newest brood in search of food

She'll take them across and around the pastures, pausing to scratch and peck at interesting spots, watching that her chicks model her actions. Eventually she'll abandon the hunt-and-peck method and head straight for the fresh manure. With the alpacas that's simple because they defecate in a central location; the goats are the animals that scatter turds wherever they wander. I guess that makes the goats more suited to pasture fertilization without human interference, but the alpaca piles make it easy for me to gather 'paca poop (sometimes referred to as "beans" in alpaca circle) for placing around the base of plants. Being that said "beans" are not "hot," they can safely be used in the garden without the requisite cooling-off period composting (in piles or in the field).

Alpaca Hamilton observes the hen Kimberly with her chicks

Apologies for the emphasis on manure in this entry. My point is that one person's animal waste or manure is another person's fertilizer; and the byproducts of one animal may serve to feed other animals well.

Alpaca Farm Days

Long view of "store" set-up Sept. 25th

We spent Saturday at the Wilson County Fair Grounds for Alpaca Farm Days, running the Alpaca Farm Days store in conjunction with a representative from Mistletoe Farm Alpacas for those alpaca farms that came to exhibit their animals and/or to educate the community. The Tennessee Alpaca Association (TAA), led by a small group of enthusiastic and dedicated people, arranged the affair for this year (as they have for prior years), rented the space--a covered pavilion, arranged advertising, set up animal pens, and coordinated everything so that the event would be a success.

Most farms present had offerings available in the store.

By keeping to ourselves at home and not actively showing our animals or participating in public alpaca events, we miss the excitement alpacas can generate. While simply savoring their presence on our farm is a treat, we've been depriving ourselves. This needs to change. Of course, we were reminded Saturday of one of the reasons we choose to stay home: temptation to buy.

Spinning, felting and weaving demonstrations were interspersed throughout the day.

We had a hard enough time not buying up the oh-so-comfy alpaca socks (we love alpaca socks), the soft-and-practical winter head bands and gloves, or the adorable children's sweaters from Peru on Saturday. When we wandered by the alpaca pens and saw breeder ads showcasing sale animals, well, we wanted to break out the checkbook and bring home a few more of the fluffy, fuzzy creatures. This, we reminded ourselves, was precisely why we had left our checkbook at home that morning.

The store was situated on the stage overlooking the rest of the covered pavilion.

From the beginning, a fairly steady stream of interested persons came through to see the alpacas, learn about alpaca ownership and fiber, and peruse the store. Not having attended the event before, I had no idea how busy I would be just staffing the check-out table. On those occasions when I had time to look beyond the confines of the store, I could see alpacas being petted and fed, fiber being felted and spun, and owners busily sharing what they know and love about alpacas.

An alpaca in the pen situated beside the sales counter, one of the fine animals that came representing Double Creek Farm, a neighbor of ours, spent much of the day humming--as alpacas are wont to do. At one time I overheard a comment that he (or she) had not been off of the farm recently, so this event was a new experience for him (or her). Unfortunately, during the infrequent lulls in activity, the sound made me homesick. Despite the enjoyment I was getting from meeting so many new and interesting people, the humming left me eager for the quiet of our own little farm operation here on the hill.

All in all, the 2010 TAA Alpaca Farm Days event was a success. The blessedly cool day sported sunshine and a gentle breeze, the fairgrounds were packed with people attending a myriad of events, we met new people and made new friends, and at the end of the day we toted the little pumpkins and gourds used by the TAA for decoration to the front steps of Lebanon's most recent Habitat for Humanity home--to give it a touch of fall color behind the plantings made by the Wilson County Master Gardeners.

Cats on the Porch

Annabelle, in front of the barn, where a good kitty should be...

I made the mistake of feeding Annabelle and Barney on our front porch once last week. Who knows what I was thinking? And when they were up there I made an even bigger mistake by milking two of our goats on the porch one morning. Almost immediately we had two wanna-be house cats underfoot. Open the door: there's a cat. Look out a window: there's a cat. Annabelle even found the wooden cat house I so laboriously built two winters ago for our then cat-in-residence. Situated beside our bedroom window, atop the wooden house, she could stare into the house--her pretty little face there to greet any unsuspecting sleeper who awoke from a nap or in the morning.

"No cats on the porch!" The decree was handed down. "No cats on the porch," the statement reverberated throughout the house. "No cats on the porch," we said to the furry felines each time we stepped onto the porch.

Barney, on the porch!

No matter what we said, the cats were not about to budge. They knew a good thing when they saw it.

"Who's minding the mice?" asked our Operations Manager. "Who's looking out for the grain?" she wanted to know. But most of all she wanted to know, "Who's watching the barn?"

If I didn't know better, I would swear that the cats' expressions replied, "Who cares?" Cheeky kitties.

Tuesday evening I made a show of bringing the milking pail up to the barn in the evening. Whaddya know, Annabelle and Barney came right along with me. First Pamela stood to be milked. While she has very little milk--both of her kids died within a day of birth, and Leslie's kids, Samuel and Maguire, who used to nurse from Pamela are generally separated from the does of late--she has enough milk to make two cats take notice.

After I had their attention, we swapped Pamela out for Leslie. She had enough milk for both the cats to feast and for the dogs to get a good taste. Finally Miss Marcie, our Dairy Queen, stepped onto the milking stand. Although well fed, both felines lurked about the base of the milking stand--watching and waiting. They did not have to wait for long. Soon a fresh bowl of Marcie's milk was laid at their feet.

I did not hear her say it, but I think Annabelle swore, "I'm never leaving the barn again!" after that feast. Barney, our cat-about-town, still wanders. He likes to visit the self-proclaimed Cat Lady next door. After all she feeds gourmet treats twice daily. He did try hanging about the front porch, too, in spite of our continued mutterings of "No cats on the porch."

Adolescent fowl on the porch stairs; right: Lawrence, Guinea cock

What fixed him, though, had nothing to do with humans. No, yesterday afternoon I stepped out onto the front porch in time to hear Barney hiss and see him come flying up the porch stairs and streaking over to me. Unable to fathom what might have scared him, I walked to the porch edge. There I found the adolescent roosters fluffing about. Apparently they'd been snoozing on the stairs when Barney tried to pass, so they attacked the interloper. I'd say they did a good job; they just about scared the mice right out of him!

Kimberly's Newest Seven

Kimberly instructs her newest brood in a little-used stall

Yesterday afternoon when I was beside the boys' side of the home pasture I noticed that that pert hen Miss Kimberly had--whaddya know--more new chicks in tow. That gal is on a roll, it seems. I counted seven chicks as they scuttled along the edges of the home pasture fence, weaving about the Nubian bucklings' feet, and thought back to when I had collected another eight or ten from Kimberly's stash in the barn to give to our farm sitter earlier in the month.

I wondered if he had eaten those eggs yet and hoped that they'd been full of yolk and white when he'd cracked them--although it seems as if it was only very recently that we took off for an overnight trip. Having seen half-hatched eggs, I can imagine how disappointing it might be to crack open an egg in search of breakfast only to encounter a partially-formed chick inside. Yuck.

Kimberly shepherds her brood along the fence-line; Maguire is unfazed.

Kimberly's new brood followed her smartly about the pasture. Maguire's legs were of no interest to the hen or her chicks. Similarly, he saw little of interest around them.

Samuel and Maguire have been sequestered into the alpaca boys' pasture along with the large milking does for the time being. They've lost weight over the past couple of weeks, so I wormed them and put them where they could again nurse if they so chose. Marcie's milk is so healing, and their mom's milk--that would be Leslie's--will help them as well. Perhaps in the morning I'll let the Nubians and Marcie out to vacuum up the freshly-fallen leaves in the back acres up here.

In the meantime, I wonder how long Kimberly will continue hatching out chicks. I would think she would back off as the weather turns cool; then again, the thermometer registered 98 degrees F when I stepped outside in Nashville this afternoon.

Welcome little chickadees!

Stinky Bucks in Quarantine

Stinky Sting lurks near the gate, lying in wait for any entrant

When the bucks in rut began piling up behind the uppermost gate, a rowdy welcoming committee ready to greet any entrants, our operations manager rebelled. All animals, she decreed, must be contained behind fences immediately. We hustled and rushed, tucked goats into pens, and began setting up fence panels in earnest. By Saturday afternoon no goats wandered loose, and new fence panels--from Edwards Feed--lined one side of an old pasture about to be reclaimed for use by the alpacas. Unfortunately, with the excitement of trundling out new fence panels underneath the hot sun, I neglected to pay attention to my hydration and paid for this lapse in judgment when, after opening the front gate for a friend, I could not climb back up the hill to our porch. Oops.

The bucks were moved into the raised bed holding pen so fast that their heads must have been spinning. No lie.

By the time Artemis arrived, every last one of the stinking bucks had been herded into the pen atop what was once a raised garden bed beside the barn. The greens had begun growing again at one side of the pen, and they were greeted with buckets of fresh water and new flakes of hay as well, so they moved without much fuss. Although I wanted to show off my little prize bucks in all of their rutting rottenness, Artemis was not moved to approach the lot. "I can smell them just fine from over here," I believe is what she said.

Clockwise: Whiskey, Brad, Bully, and Sting facing the camera. That's Joshua focusing on food between Brad and Bully.

So the boys were left to their own devices, but I did check on them again at dusk. The ringleaders--Bully, Brad, Sting, and Whiskey--bullied their way to the front of the hay pile, then all looked up in time to have their photo taken. At this moment, mid-October seems to be a long way off, but we're doing better than last year in keeping the does and bucks separated.